The Measure(41)

“But we don’t even have time anymore to feel badly about our strings, or angry about our own lives,” said Maura. “Not when there’s so much other crap going down in the world that we need to get angry about.”

“And it’s not just the government,” said Chelsea. “It’s everyone. I heard about a new dating app that’s only for short-stringers, called Share Your Time. You can even filter by string length. They’re selling it as a way to find people who are similar to you, but clearly it’s a ploy to get us off the regular apps, so god forbid long-stringers don’t accidentally fall in love with one of us.”

“Like some sort of deranged Darwinian attempt at exclusion.” Terrell shuddered. “It actually reminds me of a pretty disturbing story from some friends of mine trying to adopt. Neither of them opened their boxes, but the agency was apparently pressuring them to look. It sounds like they’re up against couples who are touting their long strings as part of their qualifications for being good parents.”

“That’s beyond fucked-up,” said Chelsea.

“My guess is that short-stringers looking to adopt are like the new gay couples,” said Terrell. “It’s not impossible, but it sure won’t be easy.”

“Well, I’d like to believe that people will see how wrong all of this is and demand a change,” Lea said, anxiously rubbing her growing midsection.

“But this is what humans have always done,” Maura said, her anger swelling inside. “We segment ourselves based on race or class or religion or whatever fucking distinctions we decide to make up, and then we insist on treating each other differently. We never should have allowed them to start labeling people as ‘long-stringers’ and ‘short-stringers.’ We made it too easy for them.”

Hank nodded solemnly. “Nobody seems to care that we all look the same when we’re open on a table.”

The room was quiet for a moment.

“But do you really think it’s fair to compare different strings to different races?” Terrell asked.

“Why not?” Maura said. “We all heard the news. We’ve just been banned from holding the most powerful positions in the country. No short-stringers need apply! It’s like we’re living in a fucking time loop where no one’s learned anything from history! Once people start believing that a certain group is out to get them—that immigrants are stealing their jobs, and gay couples are undermining marriage, and feminists are falsely accusing them of rape—it doesn’t take much to get us to turn on each other.”

“Well, at least plenty of people feel nothing but pity for us,” said Ben. “That should hopefully make them more compassionate.”

“Except it’s not just pity, or compassion,” Hank cut in. “This is different. Ever since that first incident at the hospital. Now anytime there’s violence involving a short-stringer, that sympathy gets more and more diluted with fear. And fear is a far more powerful emotion.”

“But why should they be afraid of us?” Nihal asked. “They have everything, and we have nothing.”

“Nothing to lose,” Hank answered.

He recalled the night of the primary debate, when audience members had applauded Anthony’s callous call to action, and he spent hours scrolling through online discussions asking if discrimination against short-stringers was justified.

“They’re saying that short-stringers can’t be trusted,” he explained. “That we’re too much of a liability, too unpredictable. And of course it’s all bullshit, but Maura’s right. It’s how things have always worked. All we need is one more shooting or bombing or god knows what else, and I don’t even want to think what might happen.”

Nihal’s face was stricken, and Lea looked like she was going to cry.

Carl turned toward Hank. “You know, for a doctor, you’re not very good at delivering bad news.”

“But it’s the truth,” Maura said. “And unless we keep talking about it—and keep getting mad about it—then nothing will ever change.”

“So that means there’s still hope, right?” Lea asked.

“Look, I may not know what it’s like to have a short string,” said Sean. “But I have lived my whole life in this chair, so I do know a thing or two about how it feels when people see you as somehow . . . other. I know that life can sometimes feel like a battle to be recognized for who you are, and not your circumstances. It’s why I signed up to lead this group in the first place. And I’m living proof that one long-stringer in this world can empathize with all of you. So I think that’s at least one reason not to give up hope.”





Javier




When the president debuted the STAR Initiative on national television, Jack Hunter and Javier García—along with every other member of the military—knew instantly that their careers, their lives, had forever changed.

The two friends had graduated from the academy on a sweltering Thursday at the end of May, formally commissioned as second lieutenants in the U.S. Army, and the pair moved into the D.C. apartment that Jack’s father had purchased for his occasional trips in from Virginia. The arrival of the strings had been particularly jolting for those in the military. The leaders needed time to regroup. So Jack and Javi and their fellow grads had been granted the summer as a short reprieve before embarking on officer training.